


you're paying for that

by nonsensicalbelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cleaning, F/M, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Side Romances, Slow Burn, Why Did I Write This?, cleaner!au, ish, steve is the cleaner and bucky is the junior exec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-29 01:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18216644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicalbelle/pseuds/nonsensicalbelle
Summary: Steve Rogers is a cleaner at the offices where James Barnes happens to work as a Junior Executive. Barnes is a temperamental, charismatic worker who starts to show hints of warmth that he struggles to hide. Steve is an underpaid, over-sentimental asthmatic who is in the wrong place at the right time. A corporate scandal, an office affair and foul play. Steve might get more than he bargained for by befriending James Barnes.





	1. word to the wise

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this bc im too sleepy to work on the fic im actually working on  
> wow, this is what we've come to folks  
> i graduated, moved to a city and started a creative writing masters & start my new job monday, i need to throw some writing out into the void so here we are  
> i've had this in mind since i worked as a cleaner over the summer  
> i just sat and wrote this so i do apologise for any mistakes and hope you guys enjoy x

“You got this one covered, Steve?”

Steve’s jaw twitched as he tried not to split the bag he was holding in annoyance. Peter wasn’t trying to be condescending.

“Uh, yeah, pretty much,” Steve gave a poor impersonation of a smile and Peter nodded seriously.

“Cool, knew you’d pick it up way easier than the girls were saying.” And disappeared behind the door and Steve was left standing, irritated in the empty office with a binbag filled with trash in hand.

The cleaning gig was only part-time so he could pay his rent whilst he worked on his art but he’d never felt more frustrated in a workplace. Peter, though clearly trying to be helpful, was just working this after school so he could use the money to buy whatever teenage boys bought, Steve wouldn’t know. He didn’t buy much of anything when he was a teenager.

He had nothing but respect for anyone working an underpaid, undervalued job, particularly cleaners, food service and retail workers but his colleagues in the Cleaning Department seemed to take glee in making him uncomfortable. His immediate boss, Dottie, was far too vocal about her bowel movements and questionable views. The other women he worked with loudly commented on his stature and work speed, often leaving bags of trash or cleaning supplies on his floor so he would be late to lock up at the end of his shift.

Peter and Angie were the only ones who were at all friendly towards him. Peter had taken his job of ‘showing Steve the ropes’ far too seriously and wanted to show him how to tie a bin bag or dust every two minutes. Angie seemed to be the only normal one, she had even helped Steve by telling him he could take the vacuum in the elevator regardless of what the others had told him about lugging it up and down the stairs being ‘policy’ despite him heaving on his inhaler like he was back in phys-ed. But she knew better than to act pally with him in front of the others. It really was déjà vu from his school days.

His health problems weren’t necessarily getting worse but the season was shifting into mid-summer and the heat was taxing at the best of times. The offices were 80 stories high and he had a few hours a day whizz his way around every private office in the floors 50-55 every day.

He was in the last hour and a half of his shift, distracting himself by gazing at the trees in the distance, imagining a breeze whipping the branches around and looking forward to the end of his shift to feel it. Air conditioning turned off at six o’clock and Steve’s shirt was always stuck to his back by the fourth office he’d cleaned. His phone buzzed and with a quick check to see no stragglers in this office he pulled it out. The first text was from Sam.

_I’m picking you up when you finish. We’re bingeing Christmas films and eating Clint’s pizzas._

He smiled. It sounded odd but time dragged so much in this building that Sam’s text reminded him he spent more time out of it then he did in it. Also Sam’s love of Christmas was a year long event. The second text was from Peter, who had somehow acquired his number.

_Dottie says you need to do the Junior execs offices too._

He ground his teeth. It was a trap. If he didn’t do it, he’d get into trouble but if he did it he’d get a ‘polite reminder’ about the use of his phone on the job. Still, a month into the job, he knew better than to try and win with Dottie.

He dragged his cart with him into the elevator and pressed the button to take him to the 77th floor. 77 floors! Amazing though it was, Steve still didn’t know what this company did. He was hired via an outside agency. Peggy used to work with the HR manager who had some sway with the Department Heads who went to pilates with Dottie. And thus, Steve found himself with a hairnet and a trolley, equipped for the mountains. (That’s what they called the top five floors and the Execs offices were The Clouds.)

He was surprised when he reached 77 to find a few people still milling around working. The lower floors were cleared out by quarter past five. He was a bit self-conscious about how sweaty he must look and how red his face must be now but he needn’t have been. Occasionally, he forgot. No one pays attention to cleaners. Not really.

He made it through three offices, by which time the floor had finally cleared out, when he entered the office titled ‘Rumlow. B’ and found the man still in his office.

“Sorry, I’ll come back,” he started to retreat but the man waved him in, talking away on his phone, pacing in front of his _floor to ceiling fucking window_.

He couldn’t very well vacuum with the guy on the phone so he got out his polish and cloth and went to work on the bookshelves covering the walls.

“No, no, that’s _why_ we’re passing Sitwell, he can’t keep his hand out of the pot and his face off the fucking papers,” the man, presumably Rumlow, snorted.

Steve was very practiced at pretending he was fully deaf rather than just partially even when he was straining to hear every word. It was more interesting than the dust patterns on the untouched books he was bothering. Technically, Steve was entitled to clean during these hours and all office workers were supposed to let them do their jobs. Surprise, surprise, no one seemed to remember that part of the office handbook.

“Pierce doesn’t pick people, he picks _tools_ , like me, that’s why we’re going to drive Sitwell under. Speaking of tools, he’s trying to _recruit Stark_. I know! Honestly, he invents some super cannon and suddenly he’s a visionary, well, I remember him from MIT and he wasn’t so hot back then,” he snipes venomously and Steve senses there’s a personal vendetta there.

He also knows which Stark Rumlow is referring to and he’s pretty sure Tony Stark was fifteen when he got into MIT, he remembers reading it in the papers. He’d been delivering them after his shifts at the diner just to make enough to cover hospital bills for his Ma in between school and his own health problems. College had been out of the question. So, Steve’s not sure he’s on either side of whatever feud Rumlow’s discussing.

“How long’s it take to dust a shelf?” Steve’s head snaps round on instinct and he goes beet red under the man’s gaze. Rumlow’s leaning against the window like something out of GQ and Steve wants to crawl under the carpet and die.

“Sorry, I need to vacuum but I didn’t – ”

“So, you thought you’d waste company time and listen into a private work call?”

“What, no, I, you told me to come in, I – ”

“I didn’t ask for the backchat, shortass,” he cut off furiously and Steve’s eyes narrow. “Sorry, is there something you gotta’ say, hairnet? Think you can slack off and then give me attitude? I can take your job like that.” He snaps his fingers to punctuate his points and Steve can’t bring himself to wipe the scowl from his face.

This. _This_ is why he hates this job. It isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’d got dizzy once and had leant against the wall to catch his breath and been reported and ended up with a strike on his work file. On his first day. Self-entitled assholes like this made Steve want to punch something.

It must have shown clear as day on his face because Rumlow’s face was turning red in anger and he threw his phone on the desk and gestured Steve follow him. Steve’s stomach sank, this surely meant another strike on his work file. Another one and he’d be put on probation and he _really really_ can’t lose this job. Obediently, he followed Rumlow who was storming through the communal offices, miserably dragging his cart behind him.

Rumlow all but kicked open a door titled ‘Barnes. J’ and started spitting out words.

“I’ve never seen such unprofessionalism in my life. Laziness, impertinence, rudeness, aggression! He comes into _my_ office and thinks he can get away with not doing his damn job well that’s not something I let slide, not here!” Rumlow explodes and Steve stands with his eyes on the carpet, his cheeks flaming and an acidic fury burning in his chest threatening to bubble over.

Rumlow kept going.

“This isn’t a country club, I’ve never seen someone so blatently disrespectful in my _own fucking office_ , I’ve had it up to here with interns and temps and now the fucking cleaner thinks he can write his own rules,” he rants and the humiliation makes Steve’s blood boil, he looks up at Rumlow. If he’s going to get fired anyway, he’s going to fight his corner.

He finishes his speech after a few more explosive expletives and suggestions for Steve’s immediate termination and Steve valiantly turns his eyes to the man behind the desk. The man sat there has stacks of paper covering his desk, neat but extensive, bags under his eyes, hair slicked into something far too attractive to be easy and sharp eyes. They’re trained on Rumlow and Steve can’t read them.

There’s a silence which Steve feels prickle his skin. He’s stood on the 77th floor, his hips are aching, his hands have blisters, his shirt is stuck to him, the hairnet is digging in behind his ears and he’s ready _for a fight._ What if it had been Peter or Angie, or even one of the others, kind or not, no one deserved to be treated like this.

“Do you think this is justified?” Steve realises this question is directed at him. This man, this Barnes. J is looking at him wearily like this is all a big nuisance and he has far better things to do than deal with a petty dispute about an inconsequential cleaner. He feels his hackles rise.

“Funnily enough, no.”

“Excuse me?” The man raises his eyebrows and Rumlow makes a gesture as if to say _‘See! See!’_ Fuck it, Steve thinks, if he’s going, they’re going to hear him speak.

“Do I think it’s justified that a Junior Executive can harass a minimum wage cleaner for attempting to do his job? No. Do I think being harangued by a superior from a _different department_ without a HR representative present for the crime of not vacuuming because I thought it would be impolite to turn on a vacuum cleaner when someone was on the phone. No.”

Shit. He’s gaining momentum.

“Do I think it’s justified that this man can call me rude and proceed to threaten my job and livelihood for _dusting a shelf?_ No. Now, either make the calls and have me fired or let me clean these offices because my shift finishes at seven o’clock and I have plans I’m not willing to miss.” He squares his shoulders, hairnet and all, he’s too pissed off to feel embarrassed. Rumlow makes a scoff type noise and his face is smug. He clearly agrees with Steve that he’s going to be sent packing. Dottie would hardly fight for him to stay.

Barnes. J isn’t giving anything away but his eyebrows are still slightly raised, as if he’s waiting to see if Steve has anything else to spit out. Steve just stares him down, too late to beg for forgiveness now. Peggy and Sam will have strong words for him when he gets back jobless.

“Well, you’d better get on with it then. Don’t mind me, I’m nearly done here.”

Steve blinks.

“Sorry?”

The man leans forward, hands clasped over his desk, the tiniest glint of amusement in his eyes. Not friendly amusement. A challenge.

“You said you have plans, didn’t you? Floor isn’t gonna’ vacuum itself.”

Steve’s jaw tightens but he gets it. This guy is throwing him a bone and he isn’t too proud to take it. Rent is due in a week and needs an apartment more than an argument.

“Barnes!” Rumlow exclaims, disbelieving.

“Issue resolved. He’s right, any other issue you have, take it up with HR.” Another challenge. Steve can see the push behind the sentence. Why Rumlow can’t go to HR, Steve doesn’t know, but it probably means his record isn’t spotless either.

He stands still in the doorway for a few more moments before shooting Steve a dark look and storming out, not bothering to close the door.. The silence he leaves makes Steve’s skin crawl. He doesn’t wait for another prompt, not looking at Barnes, he shoves his cart (which is nearly as big as he is) into the corner of the room and pulls the vacuum off of it, dragging the cable to the nearest outlet.

“Never met a cleaner with a temper.”

Steve doesn’t turn but it does shock him to realise Barnes is still speaking to him.

“You ever met a cleaner?” He says pointedly whilst he plugs in the vacuum.

“I’ve met all the cleaners.”

Steve scoffs without thinking and then winces at himself. The air in the room instantly changes.

“Go on, say your piece.” The tone has shifted from polite disinterest to something cold and challenging. He turns and the face matches the tone, he’s nearly glaring and Steve wishes he’d kept his big mouth shut for once. Why does he have to interact with these jumped up, suit-wearing, alpha male, over-compensating assholes and why can’t he just _let things go?_

“Well… do you know any of their names?”

“You expect the company to print off name badges?” he prods with some condescension.

Steve pointedly looks at the plaque on the door. ‘Barnes. J’ stares back at them and Steve lets his eyes flicker back to gauge the man’s reaction. He is still looking at the door. Then he sucks in a breath and releases it, leaning back from the desk.  

“Point taken.” He doesn’t sound angry but he doesn’t sound happy either. Something about the concession makes Steve’s chest swell. Yeah. _Yeah._ Damn right, point taken. These overpaid, soulless corporate cronies think they can intimidate and dismiss anyone below them and Steve had pointed it out. This guy should learn not to treat people like shit and what inequality looks like. A cleaner is just as valuable as the CEO.

He vacuumed with a vengeance and finished up the rest of the office as quickly as possible. Barnes moved back to let him clean the desk, wipe the keyboard and screen and do a general tidy. Maybe, he was a bit overkill but he didn’t want to give this guy any reason to pull him up just out of spite.

As he started to pack his gear back onto the cart, Barnes had picked up a stack of papers and went to leave the office but his coat and briefcase were still at the desk so he still wasn’t going home. In the doorway he stopped.

“Don’t forget the recycling, Rogers,” he pointed out and Steve’s blood ran cold.

Not only was he _right about the fucking recycling_ but he knew Steve’s name. How did he know Steve’s name? Barnes was taller than he had expected and he was peering down at him as though ready for another outburst.

“You’re never too small to make noise.”

Steve bristled. He had no idea whether that was a dig at his height, his pay rate, his point of view or whether it was a warning. Barnes’ face changed into the smallest hint of a smile. “Good luck with Rumlow.” And with that he left the room. _That_ was definitely a warning. Steve was mortified as he stumbled over himself to collect the recycling. He packed his cart up and decided to forego the remaining two Junior Execs offices, Peter or Angie would have to catch them in the morning shift.

Dragging his cart to the elevators he arrived in time to see Barnes stepping into one. They met each other’s eyes for a second before, miraculously, another elevator pinged and the doors opened. Steve didn’t spare a look back as he heaved the cleaning cart inside and hammered the button for the bottom floor. He only released his breath when the door had shut.

That was his first interaction with Floor 77 and James Barnes.


	2. probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from billie eilish - bury a friend (yh im obsessed with the new album)  
> again, just wrote this in a frenzy, i apologise for any mistakes  
> thank you for the comments on the last chapter, that's what made me continue this so if you fancy reading any more pls drop me another comment and let me know what you think.  
> okay, enjoy more skyscraper angst x  
> (sorry for no uploads(?) i've been working non-stop and that's it, adult life is exhausting)

It’s half past four far too soon and Steve finds himself clocking in.

Peter is upside down on his seat, legs hanging off the top, laughing at something on his phone. His face is going red but he doesn’t seem to mind. Angie is chatting to one of the other girls, he thinks her name is Elsie but he’s never got more than a nod out of her. The other women are talking and Steve awkwardly sits at the spare seat as Dottie comes over.

She likes to have meetings before they get started. Utterly pointless meetings. For ten minutes she talks about what she ate the night before and how it was ruining her day today. Then she showed pictures of her husband’s sunburn and then at last got to task delegation.

Everyone had their usual jobs except Angie picked up Steve’s floors whilst he was –

“Start at 77, work through the Junior Execs,” Dottie pointed at him and he balked.

“Why am I doing the – ”

“Problem?”

Steve stared at her, saw two of the girls whisper something and laugh, watching him squirm and he deflated.

“No. No problem.”

“Good. And do them properly today, two were missed last night. Sloppy, Rogers.”

And then she wrapped up the meeting with an inappropriate joke and Steve was thrown back into the hairnet, plunger, disinfectant trolley-wielding world.

He felt a little sick as he pressed the button to take him to the Clouds. After time to reflect, he didn’t disagree with what he’d said yesterday, but he knew better than to think it boded well for him. These were Junior Execs, they’d been groomed for these jobs since birth, they probably went to Kindergarden in a suit, like that film Richie Rich. Who was he kidding, like they went to Kindergarden they no doubt all had private tutors.

 _The point being_ they were cut throat trained corporate assassins. Soldiers. And Steve’s job meant less than nothing to him and he’d essentially thrown a rock at the wasps nest.

Still, they were busy. He just needed to keep his head down and fly under the radar.

“There he is. Mr Every Man, here to wipe the shit off our shoes.”

Shit.

He’d barely lugged the cart from the elevator when Rumlow’s voice echoed out over the floor. There was no one else visible in the open office. That was just for him. The doors slid shut behind him and Steve could have groaned, no escape then.

Head down. Under radar. He ducked his head to his chest, focussing on the steady, rickety weight of the cart, dragging it to Rumlow’s office.

He heard the door slam shut behind him and cringed. He tried to act normally but when he turned he couldn’t help but jump at the figure stood so close to him.

“Come on, then. Let’s see where that minimum wage goes.”

The urge to fix this guy with a look was nearly overwhelming but Steve resisted. This wasn’t your every day asshole behaviour, this was targeted aggression and getting beaten up wasn’t on his agenda for workplace progression.

He cleared his throat, trying to edge around Rumlow to reach his spray but Rumlow wouldn’t budge, crowding him against the desk. He spotted a sheet titled ‘Hydra Initiative’ and quickly looked away.

“I know who you are. You’re a _part-time, agency hired, temp cleaner_ ,” he said like he’d figured out the lottery numbers. “You have a strike on your record already, won’t look good to get another one so soon.” He sucked his teeth and winced and Steve couldn’t help it, he glared up at Rumlow.

“You want my birth certificate too, or is a google search enough to wet your whistle?”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

He stepped impossibly closer and the door opened and Steve all but bolted for it. He didn’t even check who it was, just dived for his cart and heaved it noisily out of the office.

“He’s not _done_ – ”

“I think you are, though. Or, did you not submit the stats predictions yet?” It was Barnes. J but Steve was past him and into the corridor now.

“I got two more days,” Rumlow’s indignant voice followed.

“And we know how Pierce likes things last minute. You have a good evening, Rumlow.” And Steve heard the door swing closed and the footsteps following him but he didn’t look back.

Barnes. J’s office was messier today and Steve was almost relieved. Doing his job was a nice distraction from the dangerous feeling lingering over him.

Barnes was at his desk and Steve wondered how much he’d heard. Steve had talked back and he knew who they were more likely to want to lose.

“Will reporting him do anything?” Steve bit the bullet, shocked that he’d actually managed to speak. He glanced up and saw Barnes was tapping away on his laptop.

“Nothing good,” he murmured, not even meeting his eye. Steve regarded him for a second and felt the sickly, threatening resignation climbing up his throat. How many people had been fired in this office alone?

_Just clean the fucking shelves and get your paycheck, Rogers._

He got to work, mind buzzing with how he would handle bumping into Rumlow tomorrow. Maybe he should bring pepper spray? No, he couldn’t bring pepper spray into work pre-emptively, it would look too planned. Jesus. All this just to pay his rent. Surviving as an artist was great.

“Shouldn’t forget your position.”

Steve didn’t register the words for a moment but then looked up and Barnes was looking at him this time. Face passive but he was giving Steve his attention. Steve scoffed despite himself.

“Like I ever could.”

“You add a lot of weight to your cart with that chip on your shoulder.” Barnes said pointedly and Steve feels his spine lock up.

_Don’t bite. Don’t bite._

“Thank you. Sir.”

“Ah, so you do know when you’re being provoked. Maybe you should employ that self-control around Rumlow.”

Steve set his spray and cloth down on the cart more forcefully than he intended to.

“Right, I’m the one out of order in that situation,” he grit out and Barnes tipped his head thoughtfully.

“You’re easily riled up.”

“I shouldn’t have to – ”

“You’re angry now,” Barnes even grins and Steve’s teeth grind.

“So?” He nearly shouts and then lets his head drop. “I’ll be done in a minute.” he mumbled, not daring to make eye contact as he snatched up his cleaning products again.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have fun with honest people. I forget you exist.”

Steve glances up but Barnes is back to his laptop, silent. And it’s like he never spoke. All except a small frown dancing on his features that hints maybe he felt something.

“I don’t blame you. You’re around Rumlow all day.” And maybe he’s pushing his luck, Barnes’ eyebrow raising tells him he probably agrees so he gets back to emptying the bins, including the recycling today. The corner of Barnes’ lip curls up as he does.

“He’s a genius, you know. ‘Quantifiable asset’.” Barnes leans back in his chair, fingers coming to squeeze the bridge of his nose and Steve can’t help but wonder if he knows that they’re basically _chatting_. But that’s not so strange. Angie says she has a few friends among the office workers but that’s different to a Junior Exec.

“What about you?” he asks and Barnes meets his eye again briefly. It’s impossible to decipher what he’s thinking.

“Who’s asking?” he says bluntly like Steve might be a corporate spy and he flounders for a moment before Barnes flashes another grin. Shark-like. And Steve breathes out.

“Yeah, funny, coming from the guy in the clouds.” Steve huffs, trying to cover up his nerves. Something about it makes the smile slide off Barnes’ face. Now, it’s like it was never there. It’s a little unsettling.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be in the clouds,” he said bitterly, quietly. “If you knew what shit Rumlow was cooking up,” he doesn’t finish.

“Hydra?” Steve says absently as he unscrews the polish.

Barnes is out of his seat and around the desk.

“How do you know about that?” he barked out.

“I, it, it was on the desk, Rumlow, he, I was gonna’ clean his desk and it,” he stuttered, backing up against the wall, heart hammering. Barnes glared at him for a long minute. Steve didn’t know what he was looking for but after a minute he seemed satisfied, anger fading into a resigned disappointment like Steve had confirmed something unpleasant. Then he took in their positions. Steve huddled back against the wall with Barnes bearing down on him and he gulped painfully, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You keep that to yourself.” he says seriously and waited until Steve nodded back, breaths too short to be comfortable.

“Of course, I don’t even know – ”

“And you never will.” Barnes snapped back and then winced at himself. “Just take my word for it, that’s not something you want to stick your nose into.”

“I wasn’t trying to stick my nose into – ” Steve started but a look from Barnes held the words in his throat and he nodded. “Right, okay. Hydra who?”

Barnes’ eyes widened, “Stop fucking saying it!” He said, disbelieving and Steve was wringing his hands in his shirt by now. He was just here to vacuum the fucking floors. His chest held a familiar panicked ache.

“Right, shit, sorry, I, it,” His hands are clutching at his chest without meaning to and dark spots start to wink at him in his line of vision. “Oh no,” he mumbles, sinking down to the ground and he can’t really see anymore.

Barnes is moving near him, he can feel himself being manoeuvred into the recovery position. Steve’s hands are sluggish and unresponsive as he tries to free his inhaler from his pocket and strong hands bat his away and then firmly press the inhaler to his lips and he manages to take a deep breath in. His eyes are streaming and it takes a few minutes for his heart rate to slow in tandem with his breaths.

When he feels as close to normal as he can after an asthma attack, he sees Barnes crouched in front of him and he scrambles to his feet. It’s a bad decision and he sways aggressively, forcing the other man to steady him with a heavy hand anchoring down on his shoulder.

“Sorry, I can’t believe, sorry,” he mutters, cheeks flaming. This week was turning into the worst of the year.

“Did I, was that me?” Barnes was asking him but Steve didn’t have the energy to unpack that or his concerned expression. He hauled up any last shred of strength in his body to heave his ridiculous cart from the office and before Barnes could say anything more he pulled the door shut behind him.

Humiliation curdled his stomach and he wanted to lie down for a few hours but he knew better than to test Dottie. He lugged the cart to the next office and robotically got to work. He didn’t see Barnes for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, very sorry for any glaring mistakes (im aware my brain switches from past to present tense at the drop of the hat and im so sorry if it drives you as mad as it drives me)  
> let me know what you think and if you want more - this is a different kind of bucky for me to write but i kind of enjoy it  
> alright, thanks for reading!  
> b x

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed that, this is a little different to the kind of vibe i usually go for but i think it could be really interesting and i'm going to play around with their relationship evolution  
> pls let me know what you think and whether you want to read more  
> okay, i'm going to sleep now, thank you so much for reading i appreciate it a lot  
> have a good one  
> b x


End file.
